A Christmas Massacre
by MaidenofIron157
Summary: Why is Duncan the way Duncan is? A half- sequel to 'A Halloween Murder' with two others. Heh.
1. The Story

*Sorta like 'A Halloween Murder'. Summary: One of the twenty two teens of Total Drama Island, Duncan, had an encounter with our favorite dream demon, the Springwood Slasher himself, Freddy Krueger. When he was seven. How had he gotten out alive you ask? Why, it was Christmas Eve that night..."

A little, small boy lie awake on his bed, crying. For being seven years old Duncan Blac was scrawny. Two and a half feet tall, Unnaturally skinny, health low, malnourished... and covered with bruises. And scratches. His parents, real parents, had died when he was only one, and he had been transfered to his foster father's (or stepfather's) home on Elm Street, located in Springwood Ohio.

His stepfather beat him. Terribley. For no reason. He was a good boy. He did what he was told, never disobeyed a command for he knew the consequences... and yet he still suffered. What was Duncan to do?

Now he cried, sobbed into his pillow, soaking it. From pain, sadness... and anger. His raven black hair, slightly long and ruffled, was sticking out every which way, wet from his tears. He had shocking icy baby blue eyes, and was wearing raggedy clothes: handmedowns, from his stepfather. A dirty old ripped up white T-shirt reaching his shins from the size, overlarge dark navy blue flanels held up to his waist by a ratty, rugburning rope. He had socks with many holes in them, resulting in scraps and cuts from the wooden floor throughout the house. They blended with the great number of scars and stitches all on his body, specifically his arms and face.

As he clung to his stuffed toy rabbit, a matted-fur thing with half an ear torn off and a button eye missing, more tears leaked from his eyes. His so-called room was the dark, dank basement, crawling with spiders and rats. Duncan hated spiders, but luckily Archie (his rabbit) scared them, and they fleed from the premesis. The rats remained, though Duncan didn't mind them. He befriended them, actually, and had deemed the albino one, Snowflake, his pet.

The matress considered his bed had no sheets. No covers. No blankets. Nothing to keep him warm during the winter. In fact, the matress, the clothes, and Archie were pretty much all he owned. He didn't even go to school. His stepfather didn't care for his education. Duncan did learn how to talk, though, and read a feww words. He couldn't write.

Speaking of winter, tonight was Christmas Eve. Duncan knew this, though he also knew he wasn't getting anything. He never got anything.

And slowly, very gradually, he cried himself to sleep.


	2. The Appearence

"1, 2, Freddy's comin' for you..."

Duncan drowsily opened his eyes, sitting up and rubbing his head, his hair slightly messing up as he hugged Archie to his chest. His face was wet and tearstreaked as he looked around in utmost curiousity.

"3, 4, better lock your door..."

A graveyard. He was in, what looked to be, an endless graveyard, the tombstones crumbling and moldy. Going on and on the darkness was eerie and chilling. But Duncan wasn't afraid.

He got to his feet, looking at the three little seven year old girls dressed in white. They were playing jumprope, and chanting a song.

"5, 6, grab your crucifix..."

Duncan walked up to them, smiling. "Can I play with you?" he asked innocently. One of the girls swinging the rope looked over to him, a peaceful smile on her lips. The other girls continued singing.

"7, 8, gonna stay up late..."

"Okay," the girl said sweetly. Still swinging the rope as Duncan walked over she carefully handed him the handle, being sure to keep it smoothly moving up and down.

"9, 10, never sleep again."

The chanting girls stopped singing, looking at Duncan with shy yet bright smiles. He looked happy, twirling the rope as the other girl entered the fray, jumping in a pattern.

Duncan still clutching Archie to his chest a loud, shrill screech of metal against metal erupted the blissful silence. Duncan stopped swinging the rope, as did the girl holding the other handle, and the two jumping.

"Sorry, nice boy, but he's home now," the one that spoke earlier said. In the blink of an eye the three, their jumprope, and the entire graveyard had disappeared.

In its place was a boiler room, the corridors of boilers and labyrinths of pipes steaming and smoking. It was dreadfully hot in there- though Duncan didn't seem to notice.

An evil, bloodcurdling cackle ensued, followed by another ringing screech.

"Duncan..." a raspy voice whispered in the seven year old's ear. He wasn't afraid. "I'm coming for you, Duncan..." He still wasn't afraid.

"Hello?" he called out, still hugging Archie. "Daddy is that you?" His voice and figure reasonably tensed at those words, and his breath caught in his throat; now his stepfather, he was afraid of him.

Clanking came from the end of the hallway Duncan stood, the metal grated floor shuddering ever so slightly from the sudden unknown weight baring upon it. A darkened silhouette walked down the corridor towards the boy, when coming close enough having Duncan take a sharp intake of breath.

His stepfather stood there, looming two times Duncan's height. His perfect graying brown hair sleeked back with gel, dark almost beetle- like eyes glaring loathingly at him, a sneer on his face.

"You've been a bad boy, you little shit," he spat, making Duncan wince.

"N- no, daddy! I've been a- a good boy!" he stammered softly, staring fearfully up at him with wide eyes. He tightly closed them, falling to his knees as he defended himself with his arms over his head. Archie fell from his grasp.

His stepfather softened his glare (though this would never happen in real life), and he quirked an eyebrow. He crouched down, grabbing a handful of his hair and pulling his head up so Duncan looked him in the eye. 


	3. The Game

Crying once again he no longer saw his stepfather, but a man with horribley burnt skin wearing a dusty brown fedora hat with startling crystal sea blue eyes. Also dressed in a blood red and pine green striped Christmas sweater, brown cargo pants, and black steel- tipped hiking boots. On his right hand, however, was a glove spiced up with blades on his fingers.

He smirked. "I ain't gonna hurcha kid."

"You... you're not?" Duncan whispered. The man shook his head, running his forefingered talon over one of the many scratches and scars (most still fresh, bleeding droplets of the dark liquid) on Duncan's face. Duncan didn't react of flinch at the touch, though looked immensily relieved.

"Who does this to you?" the mystery man asked abruptedly, still running his knives on the cuts.

"My... daddy, sir," Duncan answered in a weak tone laced with unease and fright. "He gets... very... angry." He then gasped and clapped his hands over his mouth. "Oh! I'm in so much trouble!" a muffled scold sounded.

The man chuckled darkly. "Not likely, kid. You're Duncan right? Duncan Blac?" He nodded, hands still clamped over mouth. "Why don't we play a game Duncan?"

He took his hands off his mouth, smiling brightly. "I love games!"

The man set his hands underneath Duncan's arms, lifting him into the air as he stood up. Duncan wrapped his frail arms around the man's neck as he was held to his chest. The man looked down, spotting Archie, and with a flick of his wrist the stuffed rabbit zoomed up to Duncan, who caught him lovingly with one arm.

He beamed at the man. "Are you a wizard, sir?"

"Name's Freddy Krueger, kid," the man snickered, amused at the boy's suggestion. "And I'm way better than any magic man out there." 


	4. The Game pt 2

"Okay, now this game is called..." Freddy trailed off, thinking of a name before Duncan, who was looking rather excited. "Runaway baseball." He snapped his fingers (or clanked his knives) and a small wooden baseball bat appeared out of nowhere, Duncan catching it with Archie tucked under one arm.

"There's gonna be one thing ya gotta hit, then ya hightail it outta there an' I'll take care a the rest," Freddy explained. Duncan nodded, taking it in.

They were in Duncan's "room", or the basement and no longer in the boiler room. They were still in the Dreamworld, Freddy being there and all, but in a recreation of the seven year old's house.

"Now, whatever ya do in here," Freddy continued. "Is what's goin' on in the real world. So whatever you hit HERE, will be hit THERE. Get it?" Duncan nodded as a noise rang from upstairs downwards, loud footsteps followed by a CRASH and multiple curse words. Duncan froze as light flooded through the crack the doorway couldn't hold back.

"Your dad eh?" Freddy suspected. Duncan nodded again. "Don't worry, kid. You just knock his head as hard as ya can with that bat you'll be fine. 'Course ya gotta say my name 'fore ya do that." He looked at him. "You'll do that right?" It was more of a command then a question.

"Y- yes, of course, sir," Duncan stuttered, fearing what would happen if the plan go arye. He gulped.

"Ya know, if ya can't do this I'll be more than happy," Freddy vollunteered.

"No it- its fine, sir," Duncan said. He took a deep breath and made his way up the creaking old stairs covered with dust, gripping the bat tightly. Archie unnoticeabley fell from his grasp, bouncing lightly down the steps directly in front of Freddy.

He picked it up with hid declawed hand, looking it over with somewhat intrest. Quickly and visabley, it began to heal... 


	5. The Knockout

Duncan quietly, shakily gripped the basement door handle with his free hand, turning it slowly and pushing open the door in silence. There, standing in the light flooded kitchen at the counter cracking open a beer and chugging it down greedily, was his stepfather. A broken mug was on the floor.

Steadying his breathing he tiptoed inside the room, hiding the small bat behind his back.

"Uh... d- daddy?" he spoke softly. The man spun around, looking drunk with sunken eyes and waxy skin. He was barely holding the half full beer bottle as he glared, breath reeking of alchohol.

"What the fuck is it you sorry shit?" he snarled, voice slurred as he took another drink. Duncan innocently walked up to him, being a suprisingly good actor for a seven year old.

"I uh... there was a- a man," Duncan said quietly.

"A man where?" his stepfather slurred, glaring harshly.

"In my dream," Duncan continued. "His name was... Freddy." His step father tensed ever so slightly at these words. "Freddy Krueger."

"The man smirked drunkenly, swaying back and forth on his heals. "Hope he kills you." Another gulp of beer.

"Oh yes, he will daddy," Duncan lied. "But he told me to... deliver a... message. From him to you."

"And what might that be?" his step father said, bending down for Duncan to tell him. At that he struck; with inhuman agility he set both hands upon the bat and swung it as hard as he could at the man's lowered head.

The swing wasn't strong enough to bring blood, but was enough to leave a good sized bruise and knock him out for a while. His stepfather landed against the counter, out cold. The beer bottle fell from his limp hand, clattering to the floor and breaking open, the small amount of alchohol spreading rapidly across the tiled floor.

Duncan dropped the bat, it clanking to the ground as he raced back down the basement, slamming the door shut in the process. Running three steps at a time down the stairs he nearly tripped, skidding to a halt on the cement floor. Freddy was not there.

In his place was Archie, new and improved. He was fixed up, his arteficial gray fur soft and sleak with both eyes and full ears. A note was with him as Duncan picked him up hugging him tightly. Taking the note as well he tried to make out the letters and words.

It read, "I got the rest handled, kid. Enjoy that toy." Duncan seemed to understand, and smiled brightly. 


	6. The Bolier Room

Back in the boiler room, Freddy Krueger was waiting stealthily on the metal grated catwalk just above Duncan's stepfather, who was cussing loudly and trying to massage his face and relieve the pain from the bruise Duncan had caused. A deep, disgusted scowl was upon Freddy's features, obviously horribley hating this man.

And anyone Freddy hates, Freddy destroys as well.

Duncan's stepfather sidepunched at a boiler, shouting out in pain from the punch itself and the white hot steam now billowing out the dented portion of the metal. It spread throuhgout the corridor, disguising Freddy in a thick fog.

Perfect.

Rubbing his hand soothingly the man growled in utmost rage. "That little bitch is a dead bastard," he snarled as Freddy quickly and quietly lowered himself a foot behind him.

A devilish smirk only a demon could wear worked upon his burnt face. "Who ya callin' a bitchy bastard?" he said, causing Duncan's stepfather to spin around, his loathsome eyes narrowed and a scowl on his still drunken face. The fog dispersed.

"That little shit that you were SUPPOSED to kill!" he screamed, spit flying from his mouth. The dream demon grimaced, carefully wiping the saliva away with his forfingered blade. He glared murderously, blue eyes cold with chilling hatred and unimaginable fury. He was too drunk to notice.

"You mean Duncan?" he surmised. The man nodded, causing Freddy to scoff and smirk in bitter amusement. He pounced, his declawed hand clutching his neck in a death grip, wanting to strangle him. He wanted to, and could've, but also wanted to torture him merclessly.

Lifting him off the ground and pinning him to the same boiler Duncan's stepfather had punched earlier with insane strength Freddy began taunting him. "You honestly think I'm so sick as to hurt an innocent kid like Duncan?" he questioned sharply, his grip tightening.

The man tried to say something while trying to pull off Freddy's hand. No luck on both accounts. Too much oxygen loss. Freddy continued. "Why would you- why would ANYBODY- think that? HAH?" He shouted the last part, and the man flinched.

"For me, a dream demon that's feared by hundreds, to hurt a weak, powerless boy like him? Who already gets tortured, and abused by his so- called PARENT?" He yelled the last part of that as well.

An awful, scream- worthy twisted smirk shone on his burnt face, eyes flashing with malice and revenge. "And they say I'M evil! Ha! They don't know the MEANING of evil!" he shrieked in rage, grip tightening. The man tried coughing. No dice.

"You," Freddy hissed. "Are a sick. Twisted. Disgusting. Lowlife. Bastard." He then punctured Duncan's stepfather's chest, feeling his delightful warm blood trickle down his knives, pouring down his shirt and staining it. Freddy thrust further, ribs breaking under his strength. The man tried screming, still suffocating, blood choking out his mouth. Nothing.

The dream demon quickly pulled his hand out of the man's chest, a pumping, beating, and bleeding red heart pulsating in his palm. He dropped it, the heart bouncing on the metal grated hallway floor. He swiped at the man's face, claws meeting with skin and scratching to the bone.

He then dove his hand back into the man's intestines, pressing farther and coming upon his spine. He curled his bladed fingers around the bone, ripping it out through his stomach, nervous system and all. He, too, threw that to the floor.

Duncan's stepfather was beyond agony, beyond pain. This thrilled Freddy, allowing him to toss the man to the floor like a ragdoll, metal clanking in the collision. His blood oozed through the holes in the floor.

Freddy grabbed a pipe, pulled it out of its socket (water bearing from the sudden wake of air), raised it above his head, and smashed it down on the man's head. His skull cracked, busted, and fairly exploded, brain bits and bone chunks caking the corridor.

With that Freddy seemed satisfied, and wiped the the man's intestine's off his claws on his sweater. They vanished immediatly. "Welcome to primetime, bitch," he spat, tossing the pipe aside. Coincedently, it landed on his heart, making that blow up in tissue and blood.

"Mr. Freddy sir?" a small voice said from behind the demon. He turned his head, his cold eyes softening at the sight of Duncan. 


	7. The Gift

What he found odd was, he didn't look scared. Or repulsed. Or angry. Duncan simply hid behind one of the boilers, peering out and clutching the brand new Archie as to never let go.

His pale eyes flickered to his now dead stepfather, then back to Freddy. "Is... is he gone?" he asked quietly. Freddy nodded only once, every last drop of blood vanishing off his clothes and self as though never there. The burnt man turned back around away from the child, expecting him to run in fear.

... but no sound. All was silent. Duncan hadn't moved. Freddy would've known if he did. His footsteps would've echoed throughout the boiler room, down the corridor to the demon's ears. No such sound came.

Freddy turned back to Duncan, curious for he cocked an eyebrow in question. The boy's face was lit up, happy for the first time in his six years. A joyful smile was place on his lips' his eyes shining. To put simply Freddy was rather stunned.

Duncan then hurried over to him, being so small he had to wrap his skinny arms around one of Freddy's legs to hug him. He was crying tears of joy.

"Thank you thank you thank you!" he said, clinging to Freddy's leg like a magnet. Freddy let an amused grin escape his lips and crouched down, Duncan letting go of his leg.

He chuckled. "Least I could do, kid," he admitted. "Here." He snapped his fingers (or clattered his claws) and a cherry wood hilted swiss army knife formed from midair. Falling due to gravity even being present in the Dreamworld Duncan caught it with one handm its silver blade gleaming in the little light the boiler room offered,

"'Case sumthin' happens ya got protection," Freddy explained. He ruffled up Duncan's black hair with his knives. He chuckled. "Guess ya gotta Christmas afterall, kid."

"How'd you know it was Christmas today?" Duncan asked in young curiousity, starting to feel light- headed.

"I have my ways," Freddy said, tapping his head with his forefingered claw. Duncan then grew exceedingly numb and dizzy. Nausea came, as though he just got off a really fast merry- go- round after eating chili fries. Everything went black, and in the blink of an eye he was gone.

Freddy stood back up, scowling deeply at the vermin considered a stepfather. His glare was dreadfully loathsome as he towered over the dead body, and the demon kicked it once in the gut (though there really WAS no gut anymore). He gritted his sharpened teeth, then walking away down the other end of the corridor, vanishing into nothingness behind a boiler, not to come out again before someone falls asleep.

~

In the basement of 1429 Elm Street Duncan Blac sit awake on his matress, hugging his stuffed bunny Archie to his chest with a bright smile on his features.

He held up the swiss army knife, running his thumb over the inscription he hadn't noticed there before. Carved into the dark red wood were the words, "Property of Duncan Blac, so back off, or Freddy will come for you."

"Thank you, Freddy," the little boy murmured gratefully, looking at his reflection in the glittering blade shining from the moonlight now pouring through the single window in the basement. For a moment Duncan thought he saw Freddy's figure flash in the blade, but thought better of it. He was awake now.

And what a very merry Christmas massacre that was. 


End file.
